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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26667745">Freak Like Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sohydrated/pseuds/sohydrated'>sohydrated</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blow Jobs, Confident Lambert (The Witcher), Drunk Sex, First Meetings, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, White orchard i love you but you guys have way bigger problems than The Gays, bonding over ostracism</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:22:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,796</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26667745</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sohydrated/pseuds/sohydrated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The one time Lambert steps in to help someone, he gets run out of town and directly into Mislav, who can relate to being "different."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lambert/Mysław | Mislav (The Witcher)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Witcher Rarepair Discord Collection</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Freak Like Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The bot on our rare pair server said Lambert/Mislav, I said ok bet. Thank you to Lynge for the casual beta, you should check out their laiden stuff, some of my absolute fave fics right there. Any and all mistakes at this point are mine.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>White Orchard was a shithole of a village. The Temarian people were sad-eyed and drawn, wary of the Nilfgaardian soldiers who patrolled their streets like they owned the place. Which, Lambert supposes, they pretty much did. People, land, crops, they all existed as chess pieces for the powerful. He could hardly feel sorry for them, though, they did the same to the elder races who lived here long before them, and someone will do the same to the Nilfgaardian invaders later on. It was the cyclical nature of greed and stupidity. He was just there to get paid.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The only tavern in the center of the village was full of day drunks, many of them bearing the injuries of combat themselves. He sat at the bar and tossed a few coins to the plain barkeep. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Temarian rye. No need to dirty a cup." The woman arched a blonde eyebrow at him, but reached under the counter and slid the bottle to him. He uncorked it with a dagger and took a pull, wondering if any of the food served here was edible enough to chase it down with. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A thin, pale woman scoffed under her breath. "Might as well start calling it Nilfgaardian rye, since that's who </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>serve, isn't it? Traitorous bitch." The venomous words were directed at the barkeep, who drew her shoulders up, but said nothing as she turned to tend something over the fire. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It certainly didn't seem to be this woman's first drink, nor her first outburst. The rest of the patrons kept their heads bent even as she got louder. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hey! I'm talking to you! How long before you sell us all out to them? You took our Lilies down like it was nothing, do you know no loyalty? Do they pay you like they do the smithy?" Still the woman said nothing, but Lambert could see her shudder with what might have been a suppressed sob. He took another drink, feeling a bit sorry for her but trying to ignore the scene. The drunk girl at the counter continued on, anger stoked by the silence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well? Answer me, do you enjoy being Nilfgaard's </span>
  <em>
    <span>whore?</span>
  </em>
  <span>" She slammed her hands down onto the sticky bar and stood, her stool falling over disruptively. The woman turned in shock, only for her unruly patron to throw her drink into her eyes. The barkeep made a startled noise, hands flying to her face as the alcohol stung her eyes. The drunk woman was ready to climb over the counter to attack her when Lambert's </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid fucking hand</span>
  </em>
  <span> reached out of its own doing. It wrapped around one of her supporting wrists with more force than necessary and pulled her backward, sending her sprawling to the floor. She let out a delayed gasp, mind only just catching up to what had happened. She drew her wrist close to her and looked up at him with terrified eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He broke their gaze to follow the noise of chairs scraping against the wooden floor. Several men, simple locals from the looks of them, were standing. Some had hands on their belts, where rough work blades sat in worn leather hilts, while others squared their shoulders. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Get out!" A shrill voice comes from behind him—the barkeep. Lambert didn't dare take his eyes off the men, but his face screwed in confusion as if he was looking at her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"She," he pointed at the woman on the floor, who stifled a scream at the quick movement of his arm, "was ready to jump you! Shouldn't you be thanking me?" His voice was dripping with sarcasm, irritation mounting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Marzena, come here!" </span>
  </em>
  <span>The barkeep whispered to her would-be-attacker from where she was crouched behind the counter. That made Lambert turn his head, an incredulous look on his face. Marzena didn't move, but her eyes darted between the witcher and the woman's outstretched hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Doesn't matter what she did, we protect our own. You had no right to touch her, </span>
  <em>
    <span>freak.</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Spat a man from the rag-tag group of drunkards. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Amazing,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought, face splitting into a mirthless grin, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no good deed goes unpunished.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His left shoulder raised a fraction of an inch, ready to reach for his sword. The woman, Marzena, scrabbled backward until the barkeep could pull her to cover. She clutched the older woman like she hadn't been ready to hurt her moments ago. The men shuffled closer, on guard.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lambert crunched some numbers, he could easily take out the six men, but there was no chance at a clean getaway. Even if he killed them, the other patrons were another issue, and he couldn't well slaughter them, even though the world may be better off. Then, he would also be forfeiting the contract he had trekked out here for—a potential mated pair of hybrids that had moved in and were eating livestock. Lambert set his jaw. Why did he get involved? He should have taken the bottle and left while those two scrapped. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His shoulder relaxed as much as it was able. He held his hands palm-out toward the crowd. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Right. Looks like there's been a misunderstanding. I was just trying to help the lady. I'll grab my drink and leave." It made him almost physically ill to have to back down, but he didn't have a choice in the matter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The heckler of the group, a laborer in his forties with a scraggly beard, gave a slow nod but did not take his hand off his weapon. Lambert backed up slowly, reaching behind his back so he could grab the neck of his bottle. Once he had it, he brought it up to his lips drinking as deeply as he could. He made a slight move toward the door and noticed one of the men getting too bold, trying to walk up behind him and force him out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now, Lambert had been as patient with this asinine situation as he could be, he wouldn't be rushed. He took another drink of the rye and turned quickly to spit it in the man's face, casting igni at the same time. The alcohol caught fire as it landed on the man, causing burns on bare skin and small flames that licked over his clothing. The man screamed and fell back, desperately patting out the fire. Lambert laughed in spite of himself, watching a grown man panic over a party trick. The men balked at their injured compatriot before turning their eyes to Lambert. The sadistic laugh died in his throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Get the whoreson!" The heckler called, and the men drew their weapons. Lambert turned and ran, pushing over two washing women in the street before vaulting a fence and weaving in-between homes. He was hoping that would slow the men down, but others outside heard the commotion, and upon seeing a man with two swords on his back fleeing, they put two and two together. The group of five quickly grew into an honest-to-goodness mob, chasing after him with others blocking the narrow passages between buildings. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He should be mad, and he was, but over that Lambert felt almost giddy. He hadn't been chased by a real mob in years, and while this podunk little village wasn’t the place he would have wanted to whip into a frenzy, he can't say he loathed it. Being chased was fun for him, knowing he was faster than his pursuers meant he could add a little flair to the scene. A coop exploded as he cast aard to disorient a couple drawing toward him with scythes, chickens squawking as feathers and straw went everywhere. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was quickly coming up on the forest line. It was sparse at first, the early fall sun baking the exposed leaves before the rest, but it thickened the deeper in he went. There were only a few people chasing him now, men who had more athletic builds. They were hurling curses at him as they ran, but he could hear their panting, they were tiring. Meanwhile, the witcher had barely broken a sweat, grin still on his face as he turned he approached a forked path through the trees. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before he could pick a path, a hand grabbed his left forearm and pulled him down hard behind some undergrowth. He had his dagger out, ready to gut whoever grabbed him. The man appeared to be a hunter if the bow on his back was anything to go by. He hadn't been one of the people chasing him and made no move to attack. Lambert stalled, and the hunter raised a finger to his lips to silence Lambert. He nodded, but kept his grip tight on the dagger, just in case.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sound of the few men still chasing him came and went, all traveling down the right-hand path. When the cracking of twigs had faded, he turned to the stranger next to him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Grabbing a witcher is a stupid thing to do, you know. I coulda slit your throat and you'd be dead before you even knew it." He let his voice have a growl to it, leaning into his threatening nature.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The hunter smiled, revealing teeth crooked in a way that Lambert found not unattractive. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"S'not smart to rile a crowd either, yet here you are."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lambert groaned, "That's what I get for trying to help someone. Never again." He stood, dusting off his trousers, dagger still in one hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I don't blame you, these people don’t take kindly to anyone too different.” The hunter’s eyes looked solemn for a brief moment. Lambert didn’t notice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, no shit. Figured that out when they called me a freak.” He rolled his eyes, of course they wouldn’t take kindly to him. Especially here in the mud pit of no man’s land, people were too on edge to allow even the potential threat of a witcher into their village. Since the start of the war, fewer and fewer places allowed him service, even when he would swallow his pride and offer extra coin for a bed or bowl of stew. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The hunter’s lips upturned in the slightest amount. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like a time,” His voice was meandering, strangely relaxed, “you smell like you were havin’ a drink a’fore this mess. Care to split a bottle and tell me about it?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lambert would have balked if he weren’t in the habit of looking as unimpressed as possible. Why the fuck would this hick think that after being chased by a pack of </span>
  <em>
    <span>other</span>
  </em>
  <span> hicks that he would want to spend a single second more in this village? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But there was a look in the man’s eye that Lambert had become familiar with after decades on the Path with little company. It was the glint of someone who might be inclined to offer more than just a bottle, if he played his cards right. He took in the man still knelt in front of him: forties, maybe, in good shape with a face that seemed to reflect a hard life. That attracted Lambert, he understood that, could work with it. He tilted his head from side to side, making a show of indifferent consideration.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Make it two, and we have ourselves a deal.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man nodded, giving a crooked smile. “I can manage that.” He stood, offering his hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mislav.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He took the hand, felt Mislav’s firm grip through his leather glove.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lambert.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mislav’s home was little more than a hut past the edge of the village, and he had to sneak them through the brush to avoid any patrolling villagers. Lambert appreciated the way he moved through the forest; sure-footed and nearly silent in the evening din of the woods. It was the type of movement that came from a life in the wilds, yet Mislav clearly spent some time around people if his many faded tattoos were anything to go by. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The hut itself was cramped in typical fashion for the area, most space taken up by one room for cooking, eating, and washing, with a partition wall in the corner that hid the bed. It looked well lived in, laundry drying by the stove and pelts of all sorts stacked by the door. Mislav gestured to a small table with two chairs, “Have a seat, I’ll get us a drink.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spinning one of the rough chairs around, Lambert straddled it and leaned his elbows on the table so he wouldn’t have to remove his swords yet. Just because he’d drink with the man doesn’t mean he trusted him, and he refused to be caught with his pants down, metaphorically or literally. He watched Mislav open a cupboard, and pull two cups out. Curiously, he seemed only to have two, but Lambert disregarded the observation. Wasn’t any of his business what this man had or didn’t have. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Turning with a bottle tucked under his arm, and the simple glazed cups in one hand, Mislav cocked an eyebrow at Lambert's strange position, but said nothing. “Hungry?” He asked as he set everything on the table, uncorking the simple peppered vodka and pouring the witcher a generous serving. “I’ve got cured venison, could serve it up with a root mash if’n you need.” He looked a bit nervous, holding his own drink with one hand while he kept the other on the back of his chair, unsure if he should sit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Waving him off, Lambert said “‘S cheaper to get drunk on an empty stomach, you know? And that’s what I plan on doing.” He was taken aback by the hunter’s hospitality, it had been a long time since anyone outside of Kaer Morhen had offered to cook for him. Perhaps, if this went well, he would take Mislav up on his offer later. Lambert took a long drink from his cup, as Mislav nodded and sat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now,” Lambert began, “let me tell you about this bullshit. You did ask for a story.” Mislav smiled and gestured for him to begin, settling into his seat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>By the time Lambert finished recounting his wild day, the pair were several cups deep and he had rested his swords against the table. It could have been shorter, but the witcher couldn’t resist embellishing, especially when it made Mislav laugh so hard. The man clearly had some bad blood with the villagers, he relished in hearing the way Lambert spat fire at the heckler and rolled his eyes at the hypocrisy of Marzena and the barmaid. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gods, she’s always been a hysteric woman, but since the Black’ns killed her brother she’s been vicious. Even tried to argue wit’ me when I came in to trade with Bran.” He leaned heavily against the fist on his cheek, looking into the bottom of his cup before realizing it was woefully empty and filling it again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, what’s with that anyway?” Lambert began before he could stop himself, vodka loosening his tongue. “What’s the deal with this place? You hunt for ‘em but you said they don’t treat you good.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Simple,” Mislav took a deep drink, cup slamming down and spilling vodka on the table, “they think ‘m a freak, too.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lambert snorted a laugh. “You, a freak? You’re the most sane person in this town.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They don’t approve of my </span>
  <em>
    <span>tastes,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Mislav slurs a little as he says that, but Lambert is much more distracted by the hand on his knee under the table, thumb brushing over the worn leather on his inner leg. He looked down, then back up at Mislav’s face, where he could see desire and an unnerving amount of vulnerability playing over his features.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not gonna have any complaints from me, I think we have similar tastes.” Lambert drawled, opening his legs a little wider. Mislav seemed torn between sighing in relief and moaning aloud and it makes Lambert smirk. He stood, startling the hunter who jumped to his feet as well. Lambert rolled his eyes at the man’s nerves, and placed a hand on Mislav’s chest to push him backward, thighs bumping against the table and he sat heavily on it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I should make sure the way you taste is to </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> liking,” Lambert said as he crowded against Mislav, faces close together. His shock fading, Mislav grabbed the front of Lambert’s jerkin and pulled him in for a kiss. Lambert made a startled noise, he hadn’t been expecting to kiss the man. Typically, hookups on the Path were quick and impersonal, just looking to get off before anyone could notice that two men had snuck off behind a barn together. But the kiss was...kind of nice. And they were alone, where no one would come storming in. Lambert could take his time to enjoy the sensuality that came with feeling someone’s lips working against his. He licked into Mislav’s mouth, tasting the same cheap vodka already on his own tongue. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He held Mislav still, stroking absentmindedly on the hunter’s firm thighs while they kissed. Mislav was busying himself with trying to untuck Lambert’s shirt from his belt, groaning when he finally did and could get his hands against the warm, furry skin of Lambert’s midriff. His rough hands kept sliding up the wolf’s frame, feeling the muscle and scar tissue until he got to Lambert’s chest. Lambert broke the kiss with a growl, shucking off his armor and shirt. Mislav did the same and they both, in their intoxicated states, took a moment to admire the other. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The hunter was covered in the same faded tattoos he had on his hands and arms; knives, Temarian Lilies, and symbols covered his body in a random assortment. A few were even upside-down, suggesting Mislav had done them himself. One caught his eye, a name done in slanted font over his heart--</span>
  <em>
    <span>Florian. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Lambert knew better than to bring attention to a tattoo like that, nothing kills an erection quicker than bringing up a potential former lover. Instead he drew close again, letting Mislav’s fingers rake through the fur on his chest as he bites at the hunter’s neck. Mislav gasps, retaliating with a pinch to Lambert’s nipple that he couldn’t help but push into. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t sure if it was the booze, his mood, or the kissing, but Lambert was feeling eager, more so than usual. He pulled Mislav closer to him, so they were pressed almost flush together before sliding a hand up the hunter’s inner thigh, knuckles brushing against the swell of his prick in his simple trousers. Mislav moaned into their kiss, and Lambert could hear the way his heart sped up as he pressed more firmly against Mislav’s cock, feeling the heat against his palm. He was pleased with the size of it, wanted to feel it heavy on his tongue. Mislav was squirming under his touch, panting when Lambert broke the kiss to untie his trousers, pulling the hunters cock free. He watched Mislav’s face as he sunk down, sitting in the abandoned chair as Lambert began jacking him off, gold eyes holding glassy brown ones. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sound that came out of Mislav when Lambert gave his first lick to his sensitive head could only be described as strangled; like he was desperately trying to hold back how bad he wanted it. Lambert wrapped his lips around the tip, letting his tongue flick lightly over his slit. Mislav couldn’t hold back the next sound that came from his throat low and drawn out. Lambert began bobbing his head, holding Mislav’s cock still at the base as he worked further and further down the shaft. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was achingly hard in his leathers, precome dampening the braies as he hollowed his cheeks around the cock in his mouth. Gods, he had missed this, being able to clear his mind and just focus on giving pleasure, on the natural musky scent of another man under him. He pulled back, fist working loosely over Mislav’s prick as the hunter tipped his head back with a groan. Lambert near ripped off the laces on his codpiece, tossing the armor to the side and shoving his braies down under his cock. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lambert leaned back and rubbed his palm over the leaking head of his own cock, sympathetically twitching with Mislav’s as he panted. Mislav dared to look at the sight in front of him, face ruddy with the alcohol as much as it was from arousal. He locked eyes with Lambert, who couldn’t help but put on a show; he tightened his fist around Mislav’s prick, bucking his own against his hand and giving a slack-jawed moan, eyes not leaving Mislav as he did so. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, witcher…” Mislav could barely get out even that much. Lambert could tell he was close from the way the hunter throbbed in his hand. He leaned forward again, wrapping his left hand around his own cock while swallowing Mislav down almost to the root. His breathing was shaky through his nose as his throat contracted around Mislav’s cock, and he began pumping his own in desperation. He pulled back with a whine in his throat when he realized something was missing, and nearly yanked Mislav’s hand toward his hair. “Pull it. Hard.” He rasped, not waiting for Mislav to nod before taking him back into his mouth. The hunter pulled, too lightly at first, then harder as Lambert moaned around his prick. </span>
  <em>
    <span>There,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Lambert thought, blissed out by the hint of pain that crept into his pleasure. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His own orgasm fast approaching, Lambert swallowed hard around Mislav, feeling the hunter strain and tense before shooting down his throat, nearly pulling a handful of hair out when he did so. Just the way Lambert liked it. He kept sucking Mislav until the hunter began to whine, overwhelmed with the pleasure. Lambert grunted as he came, spilling onto the packed dirt floor, narrowly missing his boot. He pulled off of Mislav’s softening cock with a wet </span>
  <em>
    <span>pop,</span>
  </em>
  <span> resting his forehead against a quivering thigh in front of him as he panted. He was confused to feel the hunter moving him, pulling his head up by the fist still threaded in the short dark strands until the man kissed him, hard and sloppy and unafraid of the taste of himself on Lambert’s tongue. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stay the night?” Mislav asked as they parted, looking unsure but hopeful. And, what the hell? Lambert was sure he had a few rounds left in him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure, but after that performance, I might need some of that cured venison you were talking about.” He tried to smirk, but his cheeks felt sore. Mislav beamed in a terribly endearing way, though that was probably the orgasm talking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“After that performance, I’d be willing to hunt you something fresh.” Mislav quipped, and this time Lambert did smile, genuinely. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Watch out, I might take you up on that.”</span><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Kudos, comments, and words of devotion feed the author. What is a rare pair that you haven't seen any of and would like to?</p></blockquote></div></div>
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